The Principal [FM] [Long]

*This is ridiculous*, she thought to herself, walking quickly down the hallway, struggling with her heavy backpack, towards Principal Bryson’s office. She paused in front of one of the water fountains and hoisted the pack higher up. *As if I have any time for this…*

Molly Piven didn’t even know exactly why she was being summoned. She had simply been stopped in the hallway on her way to AP chemistry by Ms Keans, the administrator, and told rather sternly that Principal Bryson wanted to see her.

That said, however, she did have a decent guess. The school had been cracking down on ‘inappropriate attire’ lately. No one knew why there had been such sudden attention paid to anyone’s outfits, but it had become a constant source of amusement to Molly and her friends.

The whole thing seemed to revolve around leggings. That is, the school had outlawed the wearing of leggings—including tights, ‘yoga pants,’ or similar items—without anything over top of them, such as a skirt or a dress. Administration had sent out an email to the student body and all parents detailing the new requirements just last week. Molly and her friend Lisa, who had been studying together at Molly’s house when the email was sent, had poured over it, reading it out loud to each other, laughing harder and harder each time.

“Meanwhile, no one says anything about Coach Miller’s tiny little shorts with his nutsack practically hanging out,” Lisa roared with laughter.

“Ew! Shut up! Please don’t make me think about that,” Molly cackled in delight.

They read over the email again, rolling on Molly’s bed, making fun of all the teachers who, according to them, would simply never get it—who were all such a bunch of pervs that they spent more time thinking about what girls were wearing to school than they did teaching them actual subjects.

Eventually they calmed down, and with their last sighs of laughter dying out, got back to studying. While they did love to laugh and play around, Molly and Lisa were both studious, high achieving girls who, even as juniors, were already very much thinking about their college careers.

In fact, academics had always been an unspoken source of competitiveness between the two. They had been friends for years now, and since the beginning, Lisa had always managed to get just slightly higher grades in her classes. Now, in the last years of high school, Molly was sure that Lisa was going to go on to get everything she wanted—the school she wanted, the life she wanted—while Molly would have to settle for her second picks. She resented Lisa, and, while she hated herself for thinking it, she sometimes consoled herself that at least she was the prettier of the two.

But it was true—she was. And as high school went on, while Lisa seemed to pour more and more of herself into her studies, Molly, while still managing to scrape by a position as a top student, had become distracted by boys, and parties, and the attention she received for being good looking. She imagined Lisa resented her for this, in much the same way she was jealous of Lisa’s better grades, but the two never discussed it openly. They loved each other and were best friends. Besides, as it stood, neither one of them had actually had a real boyfriend yet anyway. They had both ‘hooked up’ with guys before, sure, but never anything serious. And, as of the middle of their junior year, they were both still virgins.

—————

Back in school, Molly, still trudging as quickly as she could down the hall with her heavy pack, now late for chemistry class, thought about what she was wearing today. Like all her friends since the email had been sent out—like any seventeen year old, really—she was testing the limits. She had on an oversize navy blue cardigan, buttoned partway up, over a soft grey crew neck t-shirt—and beneath that, yes, a pair of tight, semi-sheer, black leggings. But, the sweater came down to her upper thigh, at least, when she was standing. It was a cute, casual outfit. And she honestly felt that it covered her appropriately.

*Okay, technically this isn’t a dress*, she thought, *but I’m covered up. I swear if he is making me late for class over this outfit I’m going to throw a fit*. She rounded the corner to the hallway where Bryson’s office was the last door on the left.

—————

Principal Bryson was somewhat feared by the student body, but just as much simply loathed and mocked.

He was old, for one thing. According to Molly and her friends he was positively ancient. Though, in reality, he was just a little past retirement age. Still, he seemed older than he was. His grey, unstylish hair, and the moth-eaten sweater vests he wore under his suit jackets made him seem like someone’s deranged grandpa.

But, while he did not dress the authoritarian—he was. He was prone to rages, and fits of discipline. At least once a week he could be seen, spittle flying out of his mouth, dressing down any given student in the hallway, for some minor infraction, until they were practically in tears. The students, who deferred to him in his presence—addressing him always as ‘Sir,’ the way he required—reserved their jokes and insults for when he was not around.

Molly was just about to turn and knock on the frame of his open office door when an idea occurred to her, and her previous irritation transformed into a sly grin.

*This is going to be epic*, she thought.

She pulled her phone out of her backpack, looking to make sure no one was around, as students were not permitted to use their phones in the building during school hours. She opened the voice memo app and hit ‘record.’ She then tucked the phone into the mesh pocket on the side of her backpack, behind her calculator and some pens. *Wait ’til Lisa gets a load of creepy old Bryson talking to me about the way I dress. I swear, if he really freaks out on me, I’m gonna upload it on youtube and make his crazy old ass go viral*.

She cleared her throat and tapped on the doorframe.

—————

Principal Bryson glanced up from his papers—then looked back down at them.

“Ms. Piven—Enter.”

She entered the room, and stood there in silence for another moment while he continued to look at the papers.

“Be seated,” he said, still not looking up.

She took off her backpack and sat down in one of the old wooden seats in front of his desk.

Finally, quite slowly, he put the papers away in a side drawer and turned backed to Molly. He fixed her with a stern gaze and spoke.

“Molly Piven…”

“Yes, Sir?” she said after a moment. She wasn’t sure if this was a question.

“Do you know why I’ve asked you to come to my office today?”

She cleared her throat, “Well Sir, I guess I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong lately, or been involved with anything bad that’s happened at school. My grades are—”

“Just a moment,” he cut her off. He stood up slowly from his creaking office chair and crossed the room. Gently, he shut the door to his office. When he did this Molly felt a prick of anxiety run up her spine. She didn’t want to be alone with him.

From behind her, he spoke again. “Are you aware, Ms. Piven, of the email that was sent out last week to the student body regarding the current dress code?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, turning to face him. But he cut her off once again.

“Do not face me,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Sir?” She didn’t quite understand.

“Remain seated, and face forward,” he said.

Molly was confused and nervous, but she did as he said. She sat upright in the chair, facing away from him, her spine erect, her eyes attempting to dart behind her.

“Now, then. You received the email in question?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, almost whispering.

“Speak up,” he ordered.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And, upon receiving the email, did you then read and understand the email?”

“Yes, Sir. I did.”

“Well,” he said, “If that is in fact the case—if you received, read, and understood the email in question—then how would you care to explain what exactly you are wearing today?”

“Sir?”

“Your clothing, Ms. Piven. The outfit you are currently wearing.”

Molly cleared her throat.

“Sir, I understand that the rule was regarding leggings, and how they need to be covered by a dress from now on, and while, okay, technically, what I’m wearing is not a dress, it’s a sweater, it is still covering my legs, I mean, it’s at least partly covering my—”

“Enough.”

She ceased her explanation. She felt a strong, nervous feeling growing in her stomach.

“Ms. Piven, I am not going to ask you to retrieve the dictionary from my shelf and look up the definitions of a sweater and a dress, respectively, as that would belittle us both. So I will accept that you admit that you are wrong on this account.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Willfully wrong.”

“Sir, I—”

“However,” he spoke over her, “your second claim is that the sweater you are wearing is covering your legs in an appropriate fashion, correct?”

He waited for her to answer.

“Yes, Sir.”

He spoke slowly, after a moment.

“In that case, stand up.”

“Sir?”

She was incredulous. For a moment even, furious. She had never been subjected to this type of treatment, this gross scrutiny from a man. It was completely inappropriate. It was sexual harassment. And as soon as those words went through her head—*sexual harassment*—she saw the entire situation clearly. Instantaneously. The phone in her bag. The audio it was recording…

“Stand up,” he repeated himself.

And so she did. She rose slowly from the chair and stood straight, still facing away from him, he still behind her. He said nothing for a moment, and then slowly he stepped towards her and pulled the chair she had been sitting on away to the side.

“Well,” he said.

He stood, looking at her. She could practically feel his gaze. Her heart was banging in her chest.

“I agree, Ms. Piven,” he said, “that when your body is at rest, the sweater is covering you.”

She said nothing.

“However,” he continued, “one’s body is not at rest throughout the day, is it? No. It is not. And, I am quite certain that if you were to move in certain ways, the sweater you are wearing would no longer be covering you. Do you agree?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” she answered quietly.

“You do not know? I see. Let us find out together then, shall we? Do you see the pen sitting on my desk?”

There was a red felt grading pen amongst the objects on his desk.

“Yes, Sir,” she said.

“I would like you to bend over and retrieve that pen for me.”

She was even angrier now, but her anger had become calculated. She knew that she nearly had him dead to rights. She knew that what she was recording on her phone had the power to change her life. *If he touches me, I’m screaming*, she said to herself. But barring that, she was going to let him dig a grave so deep that the only way out of it would be for him do anything she asked him to.

She took a deep breath, and did as he said. She bent slowly towards the desk, not moving her feet. As she leaned forward, the fabric of her sweater pulled up along her body, higher as she bent forward, until first her thighs, then her buttocks, and finally her bare lower back were exposed. When her hand reached the pen, he spoke.

“Stop,” he said.

And there she stood. Bent over the desk of her high school principal. Her legging covered ass facing him directly as he stared at it from behind.

For a moment the room was silent. Then she heard sounds from behind her. First the sound of his breathing as it became heavier and heavier. Next a sound like a hand moving over fabric. She realized it was the sound of him rubbing himself through his pants. She was in disbelief. His hand started moving faster, back and forth over his groin, and when he spoke again his voice shook slightly.

“Ms. Piven…Do you understand the type of effect that clothing like this can have?”

She didn’t answer.

He continued moving his hand.

“I think you do, Ms. Piven. In fact, I’m sure you do…”

The next sound she heard was the sound of his zipper being pulled down.

*Unreal*, she thought frantically, but she stayed steady. *Un-fucking-believable…there’s no way he’s going to…?*

But he did. He slid his penis out of his zipper, and she clearly heard the sound of him beginning to stroke himself.

“Further, Ms. Piven, I believe you are perfectly aware that the fabric you are wearing is rather sheer. Are you not?”

Again, she didn’t answer.

He kept stroking himself, faster now.

“In fact…” his voice began to sound woozy, “In fact, I can see exactly what you are wearing underneath it, Ms. Piven.” He was losing his breath. “I can see your entire…”

And that was it.

He had been masturbating behind her for less than thirty seconds, when, unable to finish even his sentence, she heard a series of small, splattering sounds hit the floor behind her. First one wave, then another. After they did, his stroking stopped. He stood still behind her, attempting to collect his stuttering breath.

Molly stayed how she was, bent over the desk, her head reeling.

Eventually, he zipped his pants and went over to a cabinet on the wall, from which he pulled out a gym bag and rummaged through it until he found a small towel. He came backed to where he was standing and dropped the towel onto the floor, wiping his semen up with his foot. When he was done he placed the towel back in the gym bag and pushed Molly’s chair back behind her. He went around to the front of his desk.

“You may be seated,” he said.

Though she didn’t take a seat.

She quickly gathered her things and left the office.

—————

I didn’t take Molly long to put the plan into motion. She needed the day to collect her thoughts, make sure of what she was doing and what she was going to ask for, but that was it. She was smart enough to know that her grades couldn’t be changed too much without anyone noticing. All she needed were a few A minuses changed to A’s, and a few notes on incomplete assignments erased. She would continue to work hard her senior year and only use what she had against Principal Bryson when she had to. She also understood that blackmail was illegal, whether or not what he had done was also wrong and illegal as well. She would play this smartly and never tell anyone, not even Lisa.

That night she transferred the audio to her laptop, and moved yet another copy onto an external hard drive.

—————

Knocking on his door the next day, he glanced up at her again like the day before. Though now she thought she could detect a note of suspicion or fear in his eyes.

“Ms. Piven again I see. Enter.”

She entered the room and shut the door behind her. She approached his desk, pulling out her phone.

“Principal Bryson, I’m afraid there’s something I need you to hear, and something that we need to discuss,” she said.

She hit ‘play’ on the audio recording on her phone.

As Principal Bryson began to hear his own voice coming from the speaker, his face fell…

—————

The day they parted, Lisa hugged Molly, wiping a tear from her eye.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said. “I mean, Harvard. You got it. It’s exactly what you wanted. And you’re going to do so well there, I know you are. You know, I never told you completely how I felt, but I was so worried for you last year. I thought you were going to fall behind and never get back. But, you did it. You made it. I’m so happy for you, and I’m going to miss you so much!”

Molly embraced Lisa as well.

“I’m going to miss you so much, too! And you’re going to do so perfect at Brown. Promise me we’re never going to lose touch. Please. Swear to me,” she said.

They laughed, and cried, and that was that. Molly said goodbye and watched Lisa leave for the airport with her parents.

She had never told her—never told anyone—the full truth about how her grades bounced back and how she got accepted at the school she always wanted.

And she never would.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8i05hc/the_principal_fm_long